Songbirds
by fairydustx
Summary: A series of one-shots set during sixth and seventh years (HBP and DH). Lord Voldemort is on the rise again. While war brews, so much is at stake. The Malfoys need to stay in favour with the Dark Lord, and are willing to do whatever it takes. Draco Malfoy battles fiercely with his feelings for Harry Potter.


**_Authors Note: This fic will be a slow burner. I will be generally following the storyline of the books, particularly the final two, but a lot of artistic license will be used on my part. While much of this fanfic will be canon, I am changing a few details, just to make it more 'Drarry'. Also, the sections in italics are flashbacks, but hopefully that will be obvious. Enjoy._**

* * *

_September 1st 1996 - Hogwarts Express_

Draco stared solemnly out of the window of the Hogwarts Express. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, filling the compartment with light. Countryside flew past as they took their familiar route North. Draco was sat alongside Pansy Parkinson in a comfortable silence. He liked Pansy's company; she understood that he needed space, that there were some things about him she would never know. But at the same time, she hero-worshipped him in just the right way to give him that little extra ego boost he so loved and relied on. Ever since their departure from Kings Cross Station, Pansy repeatedly found herself casting not-so-discreet admiring glances in the blonde boy's direction.

Crabbe and Goyle were seated opposite them, squabbling over some comics.

Goyle made a comment about how one of the comic characters looked like a player from Chudley Cannons, who were, incidentally, Goyle's favourite team. His fellow Slytherins were instantly drawn into a heated argument over the best Quidditch teams.

'Puddlemere United destroy the Cannons!' Crabbe insisted, only to be met with an exasperated headshake from Pansy.

'The Holyhead Harpies are the best.' She informed them all, with a satisfied nod.

The squabbling continued. Not that Draco paid much attention. It was really just background noise to him. The group of friends having had this conversation many times over the years (and all knowing that Draco's favourite team was the superior Wimbourne Wasps) he didn't feel the need to listen, or add any inputs of his own.

Instead he let his mind drift.

The mission recently presented to him by Lord Voldemort occupied his thoughts over mindless Quidditch chatter. Draco had spent the majority of his summer trying to piece together a plan. The only thing he was sure of was that to fail to succeed was out of the question. Draco knew that his master had no problem with torturing, sometimes even killing those who failed to meet his commands. Even some of His closest and most faithful followers had faced the consequences of not complying with the Dark Lord's wishes.

Draco emerged from his thoughts when Pansy Parkinson repositioned herself. She leant on Draco's shoulder, threading her fingers through his. It wasn't that Draco didn't like Pansy. She was pretty, popular, amusing. A childhood friend. Draco's parents approved of her and it was obvious to all that Pansy thought the world of him. But when she gently stroked his skin and hummed contently into his ear, the blonde boy felt nothing (if not a little annoyance).

'I missed you over the summer.' She whispered into his ear.

Draco smiled. 'Obviously.' He replied smugly. He took note of the way Crabbe and Goyle eyed the pair admiringly, and decided to play along with this whole Pansy thing. Draco knew that it would do wonders for his reputation, and could provide a nice distraction from everything.

'You didn't reply to my letters.' Pansy murmured.

Draco shrugged casually. 'I was busy.' He wasn't lying. With his father in Azkaban, Voldemort in and out of Malfoy Manor, and working out how to achieve the impossible task he'd been presented with, Draco really didn't have time for such trivial things as replying to letters.

Pansy seemed satisfied by his answer. 'Well I have you all to myself now.' She purred, shuffling along the seats and then pulling him downwards by the shoulders so that he lay on his back, stretched over two seats, head resting on her lap. Pansy tenderly stroked the sleek blonde hair off of his forehead.

The sky gradually darkened and the Slytherin's just sat together, enjoying the company of one another. Draco was glad to be out of his house, to leave the stress of his life at home behind. Obviously, it was always there, at the back of his mind. But all the same, things at Malfoy Manor were never exactly _pleasant_.

Draco recalled one afternoon soon after he'd returned home for the summer.

* * *

_Draco swallowed nervously, wiping sweat from his brow. He was sat alongside his mother outside a locked room on the ground floor of his home. The Dark Lord had recently employed the use of Malfoy Manor as a headquarters for the Death Eaters. It was no longer home to the Malfoy's; they had to tiptoe around the building, living in constant fear of Lord Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange, however, considered His presence in her home to be of 'the greatest possible honour'. He Who Must Not Be Named had employed the former study that the two Malfoy's were sat outside of as a meeting room. Draco and Narcissa knew not half of what happened in the room, but judging by the agonized screaming that kept them awake nightly, haphazard guesses were pieced together. _

_The Dark Lord had requested a meeting with the youngest Malfoy, demanding he go alone. He had hinted plans of some kind of a mission for Draco. Narcissa was unsure, but a part of her feared that this so-called 'mission' had something to do with her husbands' capture and imprisonment at the Ministry. If she was sure of anything, it was that the Dark Lord did not forgive easily. And she hoped and prayed that he would not take out his revenge on her son._

_Draco gripped his mothers' hand tightly, fear evident in his grey eyes. _

_A familiar high-pitched voice sounded from the other side of the locked door. "Enter, Draco." The very sound of His voice set a shiver through the blonde boy's body. Fear shook his very core. Draco swallowed it away, thinking of his father in Azkaban. If for anyone, he needed to have courage for his father. Draco shakily stood, reluctantly letting go of his mother's hand. The door swung open of its own accord and Draco forced himself to take a step into the room._

_Narcissa watched her son walk into the room with a protective motherly expression. Her bodily stance was tense as the door slammed shut behind her boy. She curled her hands into fists and unconsciously prepared herself to run into the room if need be. Narcissa knew that any attempt to fend off the Dark Lord was fruitless. But motherly instincts overtook any sense of reason._

_Draco took a step into the room, breathing slowly in an attempt to calm himself. He was met with the red snake-like eyes and pale skin that was his master. 'Sit.' Draco obediently sat down in an old wooden chair, staring at the floor, unable to meet His eyes. 'You have been blessed, Draco.' Voldemort's words came out in a hiss. 'I have selected you for a mission of the upmost importance.' He paused and smiled before continuing. Draco looked up. If it was possible, the smile gave Him an evermore inhuman appearance. 'You will kill Albus Dumbledore.' Draco's eyes widened. His first thought was that of terror, horror, disbelief. He wasn't a killer! He was just a sixteen-year-old student. How could he murder one of the most powerful wizards of his time? But then his eyes met Voldemort's, and he knew he had to succeed. 'Should you fail, Draco… let's just say…. retribution would be most severe. But if you succeed … I'll make it worth your while…' Draco opened his mouth to say something, anything. But no words would come. He found himself greedily wondering just how the Dark Lord could make it 'worth his while'. So he nodded._

* * *

Draco was pulled out of his memories when Blaise Zabini yanked open the compartment door. He had been invited to a meeting with Hogwarts' newest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Slughorn. Draco opened his mouth; about to ask what is was the teacher could have possibly wanted, when Zabini let out an angry snarl. "What's wrong with this thing?" He asked, pushing on the stubborn door repeatedly in an attempt to close it. The door suddenly swung open, pushing Zabini onto Goyle's lap. Draco watched in amusement as the two angrily snapped at each other. However, that didn't render him from taking notice of the flash of a white trainer that whipped up onto the luggage rack and out of site. Draco sat up, narrowing his eyes. They were not alone.

Goyle slammed the compartment door shut and threw Zabini off him, flustered. Zabini settled back into his seat, and Crabbe pulled out a new comic. Draco laughed and settled back onto Pansy's lap.

'So, Zabini, what did Slughorn want?' Draco asked lazily from Pansy's lap. He wondered what a teacher who didn't even know his students yet could possibly want to discuss.

'Just trying to make up well-connected people.' Was Zabini's reply. 'Not that he managed to find many.' He added with a smirk.

'Who else had he invited?' Draco frowned, wondering why he hadn't received an invite. He knew Slughorn had been friendly with his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy. And if he remembered correctly, Draco's own father was one of Slughorn's favourite students.

'McLaggen from Gryffindor.'

'Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry,' Draco replied.

'- someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw –'

'Not him, he's a prat!' Pansy interrupted.

'- and Longbottom, Potter-'

Draco felt an unwelcome stirring in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Harry Potter. Well, obviously, Potter would have been invited. There was no way Slughorn could pass up an opportunity to throw himself at famous The Boy Who Lived. But Longbottom? 'He invited _Longbottom_?' Draco sat up, staring at Zabini in surprise.

'Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,' Zabini replied coolly.

Draco furrowed his brow. How could _Longbottom _have gotten an invitation over a Malfoy? Draco came from a long line of pure blooded, Slytherin wizards. Many of his ancestors were successful (sometimes near to the point of fame) within the wizarding world. Draco had grown up being very aware and proud of his untainted heritage. But once again, _Potter_ had outshone him.

'-and that Weasley girl.' Zabini finished when it seems Draco had no comment.

'What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?' Draco's question was met with a shrug. 'Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the _Chosen One_, but that Weasley girl! What's so special about _her_?'

Pansy stole a glance at Draco. 'A lot of boys like her.' She said quietly, waiting for the blonde boy's reaction. When she received no response, she turned to Zabini. 'Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!'

'I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like.' Pansy smiled and Draco leaned back onto her lap, closing his eyes when she resumed her toying with his hair.

An unusual feeling blossomed in Draco's stomach the instant Blaise had mentioned _Potter, _and a desperate need to get himself invited to Slughorn's next meeting was born. 'Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hadn't heard I'm on the train or-'

'I wouldn't bank on an invitation.' Zabini interrupted Draco's musings. 'He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters.'

Draco felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He forced out a laugh anyway, deciding to show off a little. 'Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher.' He yawned, considering his words before continuing. He was still aware of another presence in the room, and didn't want to give away too much information. 'I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?'

Draco achieved his desired effect. Pansy drew her hands away and blinked down at Draco. 'What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?' She sounded both upset and indignant that she hadn't heard anything of this yet.

Draco lifted one side of his mouth in a lazy half-smirk. 'Well, you never know, I might have – er –moved onto bigger and better things.'

His friends took the bait. Crabbe and Goyle stared at Draco with a mixture of shock and admiration. Zabini raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Pansy stared down at him in awe.

'Do you mean – _Him_?' She whispered with reverence.

Draco shrugged. 'Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it … when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care about how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't … it'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.' Draco finished smugly.

As expected, Blaise questioned him. 'And you think _you'll_ be able to do something for him?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?'

Blaise had, unknowingly, voiced Draco's very fears. But the blonde boy feigned confidence. 'I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something you need to be qualified for.' Silence hung in the air. His friends stared at him in awe, mouths hanging open. Even Zabini didn't have a witty response. Draco smiled.

He resumed his moody staring out of the window. It was already dark outside. Draco could just make out the dark silhouette of a castle on the horizon. 'I can see Hogwarts. We'd better get our robes on.'

When Goyle swung his down trunk, Draco heard a yelp of pain from the luggage rack. A yelp that sounded a lot like a certain Gryffindor. A certain Gryffindor who Draco _knew_ owned an Invisibility Cloak. He narrowed his eyes. So his suspicions _were_ correct. Draco pretended not to have noticed, however, and pulled on his robes, along with an expensive thick travelling cloak. The train came to a halt and Draco locked his trunk, stealing the occasional glance at the luggage rack.

Goyle, Crabbe and Zabini made their way out of the compartment, pushing a few younger students out of their way as they did so. Pansy, however, waited for Draco, holding out a hand. He ignored it. 'You go on. I just want to check something.' She left.

Draco slammed the compartment door shut and closed all of the blinds. He leaned down and re-opened his trunk as a distraction, running one hand through his sleek blonde hair as he considered his options, spells running through his mind. The blonde boy paused for a moment, waiting for the students to file off of the train.

The Hogwarts Express was nearing a state of emptiness when Draco turned quickly and pointed his wand at the luggage rack. _'Petrificus Totalus!'_

Harry Potter crashed to the floor at Malfoy's feet, paralysed and unmoving. His Invisibility Cloak fell from his body and was trapped underneath him. Potter stared up at Draco, green eyes wide.

Draco grinned down at the Gryffindor in excitement. The thought of Potter literally _sneaking _into the Slytherin compartment under an Invisibility Cloak sent the blonde wizard's heart racing, the odd stirring in his stomach reappearing. It was as if a fire blazed inside of the Slytherin when he met Harry's green unblinking gaze and he couldn't help but to imagine the Gryffindor sat on the luggage rack, admiring Draco. 'I thought so.' The blonde mused, crouching down beside Potter. 'I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back… ' His grey eyes ran over the other boy's body, noting his white trainers. 'That was you blocking the door when Zabini came back in, I suppose?' He grinned. 'You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here…' Draco paused for a moment, considering the other boy, before standing up.

He moved one foot and stamped on Potter's face with all of his strength. 'That's from my father. Now, let's see…' Draco knelt back down, moving his fingers to stroke Harry's cheek. A fountain of red blood flowed magnificently from his nose. Draco sharply removed his fingers from the other boy's face and reached for Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Throwing the Cloak over the dark-haired boy's body, he stood up. 'I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London. See you around, Potter... or not.' Draco flashed a grin before exiting the compartment, treading on Harry's fingers on the way out.

Draco thought he heard a low moan of pain as he slammed the compartment door behind him. He ignored it, exiting the train, stepping down into the darkness. The roaring fire he had felt at the site of Harry, powerless and vulnerable, gazing up at him with those green eyes, seemed to diminish slightly. Only a tiny flickering flame remained. Draco felt uneasy, possibly even guilty, as he walked away. Draco was unsure as to where this sudden guilt came from. Harry Potter was his sworn enemy. Especially now that Draco was a Death Eater, following in his family's footsteps, completing his destiny. Potter was the reason his father was currently locked up in Azkaban. He deserved this.

Draco knew he needed to completely disregard these sudden pathetic feelings of compassion, or he would certainly pay. But the thought of Potter lying on the floor, pathetic, unmoving, blood streaming from his nose, swam to the front of the blonde boy's mind. It came with it a wave of nausea. Draco forced the image away, climbing up onto one of the few remaining horse-less carriages alongside some third year girls who giggled and nudged each other.

Draco ignored them, pulling his cloak tightly around his body and pushing aside all feelings of guilt. Christ, if he couldn't break someone's nose and leave them stranded on a train without feeling sick, how was he supposed to _kill_? He stared out into the dark night as the carriage set off down the bumpy road to Hogwarts.


End file.
